


Personal Space

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is as good a summary as any. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space

## Personal Space

by Cinel Durant

These characters belong to PetFly Productions and UPN. No promises were made and no profit is in my future. This is just a little (more) honest adoration.

Thanks to Anne and Diana for the beta. They did they're best and then I (really) tinkered.

* * *

_This is some scary shit, but it would be worse without Jim. Not because he's got a cape and can make it all better, but because it helps me to know he'll be near while I go through whatever I'm going to have to go through._

_They say secrets make the best bonds, or at least they should say that. Because it's definitely true for Jim and me._

_Yes, we would probably have never met if he hadn't been struggling with heightened senses. That's almost a given. Okay, is a given. But, but . . . damn, the way it happened . . . ._

_'Stop right there, Sandburg, you're about to enter a zone even stranger than the one Jim has named after you.'_

_Anyway, life is just better with Jim. Maybe because I know things about him no one else knows, it's easier to tell him things about me that no one else knows._

_We both had a scare. Jim didn't say much, but I know being blind terrified him. And me -- that's the strangest hour I ever had. I'm probably the only person who ever ate pizza in the middle of a police station and wound up on the equivalent of an acid trip. I don't remember much. That's the scariest part actually, not remembering. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before._

_Naomi's the flower child. Grow up with one as a parent and you're either straight as an arrow, or irresponsible as hell. I never thought I had a choice, I chose straight. Someone had to be._

_Of course, sometime when I'm least expecting it, it's going to occur to me that I'm also probably the only person who ever pulled a gun in a police station, fired it, and walked away alive. But not now. That scenario is so surreal, I can't even handle scheduling a nervous breakdown for later. Probably just as well. It's best if I never see it coming._

_If I'm lucky I'll be able to draw some comfort from the fact that there are reasons all those cops had second and third thoughts about ending my life. If I'm not, well, hopefully Jim will be there._

_But this is the scenic route to where I was headed -- that damned pharmaceutically enhanced pizza._

_There are flashes, retrospective and neurological (from what the doctors say and I think they're right). I hear Jim's voice. And I can feel him holding me._

_That closeness: it was both real and unreal. And if I stopped to think about that for any significant length of time, it would probably be driving me crazy. I sure haven't had the guts to ask Jim about it._

_I want to._

_To be honest, I want it to be reality. Eight days a week, twenty-six hours a day reality. True._

* * *

"It's as good as I remembered." 

Jim gasped as Blair mumbled drowsily into his neck. He'd thought his partner asleep. 

"What is?" he asked, shifting Blair closer. Warm in Jim's arms, a quiescent Blair didn't respond to the hushed question until Jim prompted, "Blair?" 

". . . as good as I remembered," Blair said again. This time, whispered more distinctly as he woke more fully, the meaning clear, as clear as the gaze that held Jim's. 

Blair might be the observer, but as a detective Jim had cultivated an incredible patience, and he waited. It gave him time to name his confusion and shy away from his fear. Blair had been through a traumatic experience and although he seemed fine now, Jim knew he wasn't really. Not yet. There were all kinds of reasons for this, but none of them bore pursuing at the moment. Instead, Jim worried if some heretofore hidden after effect of the drug Blair had been exposed to was finally surfacing and affecting his partner's ability to reason. 

Blair sighed softly. "The way you feel . . . your lips . . ." 

Oh. 

That was clear enough. Dread took center stage in Jim and hogged the spotlight until there wasn't a corner anywhere that he could run to avoid it. The truth made him uneasy. Or perhaps apprehensive was a better word. No, vulnerable. 

His first instinct was to reveal nothing, a trait honed by years of personal and professional instruction. But his shock stretched that instinct to the breaking point. He caught Blair's eyes and knew his own face was anything but unreadable. The look of curiosity Blair fixed him with would have made that clear even if Jim hadn't been able to feel it himself. He tried to look away but failed, trapped by Blair's gaze and then by his sigh, a restless plea, tinged with frustration. 

A few words, and he'd become completely transparent. Still, it was the last thing Jim had expected in a long line of things he hadn't expected. 

There were all kinds of things to say. But nothing would say it all and he couldn't risk not saying it right. 

The quiet stretched on, but not awkwardly. Blair's eyes were patient now, coaxing, as Jim grappled with the new terrain beneath and between them. His next move seemed to please Blair: a thumb trailed lightly across his cheek bone, other random touches. Blair smiled at the contact and everything about him warmed, including his gaze. It earned him a small tug, and he reclaimed his place against Jim's chest. 

This was not at all like his senses being out of control, Jim knew. It was a thousand times worse and a million times better. No longer naked beneath that crystal blue surveillance, he stopped panicking long enough to consider his willingness to confess feelings never before exposed. If he was wrong, would he lose the most important thing in his life? 

He would never know for sure how it came to pass. Maybe he'd tensed up at that last possibility, or maybe it was cosmic coincidence, if that could still be termed coincidence, but at that moment Blair pressed closer and brought a hand up to his neck. 

It felt right, first giving and now receiving. There was only one way to feel, Jim realized at that moment, only one thing to truly know: this was the first of countless moments with his partner and friend and whatever else they would ultimately become. Together. Not a momentary exception to someone else's rules about how they should relate to each other, but the rule itself. On their terms and no one else's. 

Jim tipped his head up and listened to the layers of sound around him, sound that Blair had taught him how to cope with, how to use. And then he caught himself smiling as he began to filter them all out, setting them aside one by one until only one remained. The one he'd never let himself dwell on before now. Blair's heartbeat. 

Like a small drum it thrummed and echoed, and Jim could almost envision a cloth-covered hammer tapping against an oilskin-draped cylinder. The relaxed syncopation was one of Blair's more frequent patterns, with its normal, healthy cadence. Thousands of times before Jim had isolated it from all the other noise and vibration in his life, always letting it slip away without tarrying long to listen. Inevitably, he'd resist the temptation to fixate on its meter. 

Blair had changed that. Blair had changed most things. 

When the anthropologist had unknowingly become a walking laboratory for a new designer drug, the harrowing result frightened Jim badly. Scenes from that afternoon still haunted him. His anxiety upon finding the pizza had grown worse when he'd arrived in the police garage to find Blair drugged out beyond reason. But that had paled next to the tightening in his gut when he heard shots from his own gun. His choices were boiled down to one: talk Blair down or risk someone taking him out with a single shot, despite Simon's orders to stand down. It was much later before Jim realized that his fiercest urge to protect his partner had come not when he was talking the gun out of Blair's hands, but when he was forced to release him into the paramedics' care. 

At the time, he wouldn't have called what he was experiencing tenderness, not in the police garage or later at Blair's bedside. It was much stronger than anything he'd ever associated with that emotion. Not as strong, but very much alive, were worry and affection, and they colored Jim's mood not only in the garage that day, but later in the hospital as he bent down and ghosted a kiss across Blair's temple. 

Afterwards, with the good guys recovering and the perpetrators awaiting trial, the normal routine of their lives had been rearranged and reconstituted. 'Normal' came to include nightmares for Blair, who was shaken by his experience. There were also privately confessed fears of the residual effects of the homemade pharmaceutical compound he'd ingested. Sometimes, his physiology and his psyche still at odds, he shook uncontrollably. After a particularly disruptive night, his need for reassurance and comfort outlasted his initial hesitation, and he turned to Jim, who was more than willing to hold him until he found peace in sleep. 

As Blair's inner resourcefulness had begun to heal him, Jim had faced a harsh truth -- those rare moments of uncharacteristic intimacy between them were numbered. It was only a matter of time, and that certain fact haunted Jim. He wouldn't know the last time was the last time except with the benefit of hindsight, until he'd missed the feel of Blair against him, until his trepidation became fully realized regret. 

So when he'd come home that afternoon to find Blair tossing fitfully on the couch, he'd gone beyond the strictly necessary. A touch would have calmed Blair's coiled body, but Jim gathered his sleeping partner close instead, and then without thinking, pressed a kiss to his temple. 

Like all the times before, he had expected nothing beyond the usual complexity of moments like these: their bodies close, his emotions involved, and Blair needing to be soothed. Then Blair had spoken and tilted his entire world. 

_It's as good as I remembered._

"What was?" Jim had to know, but he was hesitant, his trepidation apparent from the softness of his voice when he spoke once more. "What do you remember?" 

"Another kiss. In the hospital," Blair said. 

Jim started to speak. 

"No, you," Blair slipped in before Jim could deny it. 

"Me?" 

Blair nodded. No reproach, just undeniable certainty. 

Jim was cornered. "But you were unconscious," he protested. 

Right past 'had he' or 'hadn't he' only to land right in the middle of 'yes.' Damn, he hadn't meant to admit it so plainly. 

"I don't think I was. When you kissed me just now, it was there, the memory. Like I _wanted_ to remember." 

The Jim Ellison of old wouldn't have understood how that was possible. Something else changed by Blair. 

"Do you mind? The kiss?" Jim felt tentative; hell, this entire situation was tentative. 

"Only if there's never another one," Blair answered, sitting up. "I want to remember every one." 

"How many do you think they'll be?" Jim's voice threatened to break, and it had everything to do with the meaningful light in Blair's eyes. 

"Millions, if I'm lucky," Blair grinned, "but I want to remember them all." 

Jim got a little giddy at the first part of Blair's answer, then something else burned that away. "Every one?" There was awe and then a joy that threatened to drown him. Somewhere in the deeper recesses of his brain lurked a question about how long they'd both wanted the same thing, but he'd think about that later. 

"Well, how about the first thousand or so?" Blair murmured, leaning up to take Jim's mouth with warm lips and a tongue that slipped in briefly to taste and learn before retreating uncertainly. 

"Two thousand?" Jim counter-offered, weighing other words while those hung in the air. 

"If I lose count we'll have to start over, you know." Blair's eyes glowed with all the things Jim had had no inkling could ever be there for him. 

Jim laughed for only a moment. That had to have been the most affectionate warning ever uttered. "Love you," he breathed, realizing the words weren't so heavy after all. 

"Wow." 

"What wow?" 

"It just gets better and better." 

Jim leaned into Blair with a sigh. "Don't I know it." 

Two down, one thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight to go. 

* * *

_Damn, but that felt better than good. For so long I've wanted to hear those words, but my dreams never came close to what it actually felt like to get my wish._

_I never thought it would happen. I never calculated the odds. I . . . just never did. I did what most people do, I kept my dreams to myself, or in the alternative, scolded myself for living a fantasy. Either way, it was pushed aside in my mind. Not that it ever went far. I pushed it aside, not away._

_As if that was possible. The first glimmer of need had caught me by surprise, until I realized how brightly it burned and how deeply it ran. It was never going away._

_I wanted Jim. I wanted me and Jim. The idea stayed on my radar, just low enough to be a tempting possibility that could make me smile when I thought about it every once and a while. Made it easier not to pine for him. I worked so hard at just enjoying the simple thought of us together. That was reality, after all. That was all I had, the thrill of an ideal, a feeling I could bask in from time to time._

_I have fallen head over heels before, but this was different. No soaring out of control, infatuated, only to crash later. I was careful to never dwell on whether anything would ever come of my love. To me, that was a completely different issue, and it was important to keep them separate in my mind, and my heart. I found contentment in the dream that we might make an 'us' someday. Just having the potential made me glad._

_Meanwhile, I had quiet nights at home, basketball games, and deli trips. And I had triumphs whenever Jim mastered another element of living as a sentinel, or learned one more thing about his remarkable gift. Like that it was a gift._

_I settled for what I had, a close relationship with my roommate, and I made the most of it, doing my best by my friend._

_So now, after never thinking it would happen, I have more. My life has been enhanced, and I didn't even do anything. Jim did. It was Jim that crossed the divide and redefined the relationship the first time, and Jim who did it again tonight. I don't know if he meant to or not, and it doesn't matter one way or another. His heart wasn't conflicted and that's all that matters to me._

_Neither is mine._

* * *

It had been about the kiss, yes, but not only that. The kiss -- a brief expression that recaptured a sense memory, for Blair this time, not Jim -- had been too important not to talk about. That, and the memory, and the new direction in their relationship. All of it. So they had talked and explored, gently allowed admissions, and settled into . . . belonging. A nuance that had always been there between them waiting to be acknowledged. 

There was one thing that Blair kept to himself though, a small, lovely secret, taking it out from time to time to examine. Sometimes it came to mind, sneaking up on him in his office in the middle of a student conference, or on those long nights on stakeout, or when he was with some other member of the Major Crime squad. Every once in a while when that happened, he toyed with it, but usually he shooed it back to an unexamined corner of his heart. Either way, it was always there: warming him, holding him. 

This _discovery_. This realization that everything was more. Time spent together was more important, incidental touches were no longer incidental, laughs and jibes could be intimate. Trust grew. More. 

Like now, right now, here, with Jim. An offhand suggestion on Blair's part and they had moved for the door and the coat rack adjacent to it when, in less than a fraction of an instant, time stopped. Jim had touched him, a casual brush, then hadn't moved away. His fingertips lingered, then lifted and found Blair again. 

Any thought of engaging in motion away from those hands had fled. A touch. Another. Blair coveted them all. He forgot everything. He needed, he savored, and he was drawn to his partner. He leaned in, grasping for the tactile connection, and when he smiled at the blush of attendant pleasure, Jim caught him at it, wanting to know all about it. 

"What?" 

That low, gentle sound was so intimate that it raised the energy around Blair and shook him a bit. It was like catching a chill, his shiver, only warm instead of cool. He turned towards that voice, into the circle he and Jim made, only to find Jim standing quite close, the concept of personal space nearly nonexistent between them anymore. No, redefined. It didn't take a Sentinel's senses to feel the heat adjusting the air vapor between them. His mind registered all of this in less time than it took for his eyes to blink and his chin to come up and his hand to slide high on Jim's arm, the one that was still resting low on Blair's back. 

"Just . . . I love it when you touch me." Jim almost swayed into Blair, who finished with, "I always have." 

"I always have, too. Touched you, I mean." 

Blair knew a few things for certain. He knew he was very much the object of his partner's single-minded heart. He knew that they would learn more about how to love each other through moments like these -- random but significant -- than through conversation. He knew that just as that celebrated kiss, the one remembered a few nights ago, had led to this moment, this moment would lead to others, and that process of discovery would cycle between them for as long as they stayed together. 

He knew all that but said only, "um-hmm, I noticed." He leaned closer, traveling the slightest of distances, enough to rest his weight against Jim, whose hands were busy descending Blair's back. His own hands cupped Jim's hips and the hushed shifts became an embrace. 

"It's so easy, like breathing. I don't know I'm doing it most of the time until I've done it and moved away, or brushed against you and gone on. Except when I don't move away or move on, when I stay. _We_ stay. It . . . it's . . ." 

_Like now_ , Blair finished silently. Air moved in and out of him as he breathed, exhaling the uncomplicated and long breaths of a very contented man. "Like a few nights ago," he offered. That night he'd awakened to find Jim surrounding him again, and had remembered the first time lips had lightly skimmed his skin. 

"Yeah, like that," Jim said softly. 

He didn't go on and Blair had nothing to add. This close to Jim, there were other things to think about: Jim touching him, marking the particulars of how their bodies fit together, sifting through the sensory subtleties of hair and skin, the various textures of cloth in the way, the press of bone through denim and khaki. Even without the benefit of genetic predisposition, Blair was captivated. 

What else was there possibly to say? From the beginning, touch had said it all. 

Jim's chest rumbled slightly and Blair shifted, curious. 

"What's funny?" 

"I completely forgot where we were going," Jim admitted, his hand flexing around the favorite leather jacket it still held. 

That a man so capable of sensing everything would focus on only him for the time it took to forget purpose, place, and time -- to Blair, that was both wonderful and perfect. 

"Nowhere. We're not going anywhere," Blair vowed, speaking of things altogether different from physical movement. 

"No, we're not," Jim agreed, both of his arms now around Blair. 

"But when we get back," Blair smiled knowingly, with a nod to a more material reality, "will you touch me again?" 

"I'd like that," Jim answered. 

"Do you, Jim? Like it?" It wasn't 'yes' Blair was looking for, but a measure of Jim's satisfaction. 

"No, love it." 

There was that word again. He hadn't needed to hear it again; in fact, if he never heard it again he'd still always hear it. He'd only replayed that cherished declaration in his mind a million times over the last few days; it wasn't going anywhere, permanently imprinted as it was on every cell in his body. But it made a very nice gauge and he smiled to himself. 

"The damnedest things seem to happen to me when I'm near you, Blair." 

"You touched me," Blair answered, as if that explained everything. His voice was full of conspiratorial tones, as if to say, 'it's only fair after what you do to me.' 

"I touch you all the time." 

"Uh-huh," it was Blair's turn for a disclosure, "and I melt every time." Judging from the flicker in Jim's eyes, this time it was he who felt the thrill. Blair saw it. "It got away from me this time, and you saw it." 

"Felt it." 

"That too." 

"You always feel this way?" 

"No. Yes. It always feels good." He dug deeper, trying to explain. "And now there's more of that, like there's more of everything between us. Does that make any sense at all?" 

"Hmm." Then, "Blair?" 

"Not now, Jim. We've got to leave for this place we're not going to," Blair teased with an affectionate squeeze. 

"Yeah," Jim sighed. The sooner they left, the sooner they could return. 

Blair moved towards the door but paused at the soft caress down his back as Jim's fingers trailed there possessively. 

"Yeah," Jim murmured again. 

* * *

_If this ever wanes, I'm a dead man. Plain and simple._

_If it ever stops feeling this good, I know it will kill me. It seems that everything I held at bay and rationalized away for months has come back to me fourfold. All those measured days of pulling whatever joy I could out of 'maybe'. Maybe it was love, maybe it would be mine, maybe it wasn't just on my part._

_Then 'maybe' wandered off one day and 'surely' took its place. I wasn't even overwhelmed. Should I have been? Cause I wasn't. It was just good. Good piled on more good and I reveled in it. There was no such thing as too much, and I don't think there ever can be._

_Aren't I little old to be swooning over love?_

_'Evidently not, Sandburg. Evidently, not.'_

* * *

Jim's approach would have sounded just a bit off to Blair if he'd had time to think about it. But the man who came through the door moved in ways both intense and weary and Blair focused on that instead. They moved in unison, each trying to get to the same goal as Jim slipped out of his jacket and holster and Blair crossed the room. After a series of concurrent motions that accomplished a mutual objective -- getting to each other -- Jim turned and Blair's arms were there. 

Desperation fierce and fresh took Blair aback. 

"Jim." It was every assurance Blair had ever uttered, including 'I won't let go,' 'it's okay,' 'I'm not going anywhere,' even 'anything for you.' All in that one word. 

Jim began to tremble, and Blair tightened his hold, saying nothing. No words came to mind that might add anything to the comfort only a sure grip could provide a man battling to hang onto his composure. Jim was losing that battle, in any case. 

Blair eased a hand to Jim's neck and began to knead. _So tense._ Murmuring slowly, he began a litany of solace, more sound than anything, reinforcing what Jim was already receiving via touch. One sense at a time and Blair hoped to bleed away some of the stress. 

Finally, with a shaky breath that sounded a little different from all the others, Blair began to hope he'd been right. "Come on," he whispered, leading Jim to the couch and settling their bodies. "Breathe. Deeper. Keep going. _Breathe._ Yeah, that's it," he soothed as Jim's shoulders lowered a little. 

With his arms clasped loosely, Blair continued his kneading and stroking. He kept the pressure light. It wouldn't actually loosen the tight shoulders and neck, but it gave Jim a rhythm to breathe along with, a path to long, and hopefully deep, breaths. 

"Blair." The syllable broke in pieces, the middle vowels barely articulated. 

"When you're ready, not before." 

A self-coerced account was the last thing Blair wanted. For the moment, his only goal was getting the tension to cut Jim loose. This wasn't the first time something had hit the law enforcement professional in his arms particularly hard, and Blair knew the problem was only partially a sensory one. But it was hard to know which should be tamed first, the sensory demon, or the emotional one. 

The answer came with time. The air around them had darkened to dusk before Jim's body began uncoiling. He melted completely against Blair, who, amidst his worry, took a moment to welcome Jim's abandon. Neither a small man nor a hulking statue, nevertheless Jim usually spared Blair his bulk with shifts and adjustments that were probably so ingrained, they were subliminal, and Blair knew this. But that didn't keep Blair from missing the surrender that lovers usually shared when they knew that their bodies were safe with each other. At his rational best, he reminded himself that he of all people should recognize the behavior of a blessed protector, and be grateful for both the consideration and the instinct. But that didn't keep him from wanting more of what he had right now: Jim relaxed against him. As glad as he was for the chance to care for his lover, Blair wished it hadn't taken pain and distress to lower Jim's guard. 

A shudder from Jim interrupted Blair's ruminations, but otherwise Jim stayed curled around his partner. Blair shifted a leg slightly and his charge settled even closer, safely tucked against his warm and compassionate guardian. 

Gradually, Jim quieted to the occasional ragged sigh. After several of these, he spoke. 

"Blair." 

Better, much better; every letter pronounced this time. Blair checked and found Jim's breathing steady, their heartbeats in sync. No doubt Jim's doing, given that he had learned months ago how to zero in on that gentle thumping in Blair's chest and modulate his own to match it. But for all the signs of calm, when Jim spoke the hoarseness of his voice said he was anything but. 

"I shot someone today. She was being held by drug dealers, probably passed around, and probably on something. But all I saw was the gun, and I fired. At the last possible second, something didn't look right, or else didn't feel right. I don't know, maybe somebody shouted at me. I beaded just slightly to the right before instinct kicked in. Another two inches and I would have missed her altogether, but I'm better than that. Instead, most of the left side of her face is missing, and she's dead." 

Jim came to a stop, but where his voice left off his hands took over, digging into Blair so hard that he had to swallow several times to avoid grunting in pain. 

"She was barely twelve years old," Jim ground out. 

Blair sucked in air as if he'd taken a blow to the gut. But he couldn't hold it. "Oh God," he groaned. 

"There was so much blood. I -" 

" -- you zoned," Blair finished, but he hardly recognized his own voice. He had to pull himself together. One of them had to be level-headed in this conversation. At the moment, Jim didn't stand a chance. 

"I . . . didn't stop it." 

"Probably a protective mechanism," Blair answered automatically. 

"No--" Jim stopped, apparently confused. "Yeah. I didn't want to stop it." 

Blair frowned. "You lost me." 

"I . . . you . . ." 

Jim began to breathe faster. "Breathe, Jim. In and out, easy." If they had to, they would get through this horror a few deep breaths at a time. 

"You were on my jacket. Dialed everything else down until the scent was the only thing left." 

Analyzing Jim's reaction to sensory over-stimulation was familiar territory, still the words shook Blair. They recalled his handing over Jim's jacket that morning after a short game of keep-away, the playfulness of hours ago a stark contrast to their current mood. 

He jerked when he realized Jim was calling him. 

"Blair?" 

"Sorry, I was thinking about what you said. You didn't want to block out _me_?" 

"No." 

Blair sighed at this, using Jim's name as a mild chastisement, one he didn't mean but knew he should. It was too dangerous for Jim to ever willfully embrace any over-extension of his senses, even to focus on Blair. 

Jim seemed to know what he was thinking though because he murmured, "I never want to." 

Blair shook his head; now wasn't the time for that conversation. "What else?" he asked instead. 

"Simon was there, he talked me back." 

"And then you made it worse by trying to work the scene, didn't you?" 

Of course, he had. This was one of the city's finest, after all. This detective might not give a damn about a 'cop of the year' label, but the qualities that had earned him the honor were very much a part of Jim Ellison. Blair had known that from the beginning. Only with time had he come to understand how adroitly Simon manipulated that instinct of Jim's, skillfully enough to have earned Blair's resentment at least a handful of times. Blair understood the department's needs, but their priorities were not his priorities. 

"I tried. I didn't want to leave without some answers. It's hard enough even with something to balance the guilt, but Simon sent me home." 

At least there was that to be grateful for, Blair thought, but behind closed eyes he envisioned the bloody tableau as Jim had seen it. He envisioned something else, too: a man so proud that he wouldn't have wanted Blair to see him commit such a violent, horrific act. It would be up to Blair to actually broach that issue, Jim never would, but it was as much a part of his sorrow as the blood and the uselessness of death. 

"It must have been awful," Blair whispered, meaning several things at once. 

"I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to --" 

That brought Blair up short, because he knew exactly what Jim thought he was apologizing for. 

"Don't you dare." Blair nearly snapped but without raising his voice. "For what? For wanting to be comforted? I have a confession, Jim. I like it that you need me. I would give anything to spare you the horrors of your job, but you're a cop, a damned _good_ cop, and this comes with the territory. Thankfully, not everyday. But when you have days like today, I'm glad it's me that you turn to." He took a deep breath. "I need to be that person for you." 

"I meant I was sorry for the details." Jim said, although he seemed abashed. "It was ugly. I'm glad you weren't there." 

"Oh." But the thought of Jim thinking he had to feel sorry for that didn't sit well with Blair either. "Well, empathy comes with the comfort, I guess. You needed to tell me. And if you zoned on my scent, you obviously needed me there." 

"Still . . . " 

"Don't, Jim. Think about what I just said." There had been several messages in that mild diatribe, some spoken and some not. Jim Ellison had a reputation for playing things close to his chest, but reputations weren't always based on truth, often it was perception that swayed. Long ago, Blair had recognized Jim's penchant for only sharing his feelings whenever he felt it was safe to do so. James Joseph Ellison just hadn't felt that safe very often. But he was safe now. Literally and figuratively. 

"I'll always need you, Blair." 

"You'd better." He was only half-teasing, but Jim clearly heard the unspoken half and lifted his head. 

"You have nothing to worry about." 

"I know. Really, I do. And neither do you. I'll always be here." 

With a nod, Jim slumped to Blair's chest again and cleared his throat. "It hasn't always been easy for me to accept that. Sometimes, I hold back with you." 

Blair didn't think. If he had, he probably wouldn't have said what he said next. 

"Like right now." 

Jim's head came up quickly. "What do you mean?" 

Blair could have sidestepped, but he decided to face the dragon. 

"Don't you think I know the other reason why you're glad I wasn't there? What you're afraid of?" Blair slid his hand behind Jim's neck and tugged him a little closer. "Don't you think I know what kind of man you are, the kind of man I'm in love with?" He took a deep breath, plunging on. "Do you really believe I could think less of you for surviving, for coming home to me, when I know if there'd been some other way, another instant to make a different choice, that you would have found it?" 

"She needed help, not death." Jim's eyes filled as he spoke. 

"True, but she might have killed you. The gun was loaded wasn't it?" 

"I didn't know that until afterwards, Blair." 

"Exactly. Either way, you wouldn't have known until afterwards." 

"It's so goddamned hard." 

"It's supposed to be, for you. It's who you are," he said gently while wiping at the moisture on Jim's face. "You never have to hide from me. I love you. No matter what, I'll always be here." 

Jim held his gaze for a very long time before mouthing the words 'me, too' back to Blair. 

The silence they fell into endured well into the evening, albeit more peacefully than at any time since Jim had come through the door. And there was another peace, as Jim stayed right where he was and Blair was happy for it. 

"It's hard to need you," Jim admitted long after Blair thought he'd slipped into a doze. 

"But why, Jim? I need _you_." 

"It's not hard to need _you_. It's hard to _need_ you. Hell, anybody. But it's like some part of me knows better and takes what it wants, leaving my head at odds with my heart." 

Blair pressed a kiss to Jim's forehead. "You can trust me, you know." 

"I know." 

"Do you?" At Jim's nod, Blair added, "Good." 

They shared a brief kiss, then returned to their nestling. 

"This is nice," Jim said after a while. 

"No shit," Blair snorted, unable to help himself. "Does that mean you finally got it through your thick head that you're not too heavy for me?" 

Jim grunted. As noncommittal sounds went, it was a winner. 

"Well, damn. James Ellison and insight finally meet," Blair teased. 

"Yeah, well don't get used to it." 

"Now that I've gotten a peak? No such luck for you, my friend." He knew Jim's grumble was mostly bark and rarely bite. 

"You want more?" 

He wasn't at all sure he did, but what he said was, "Sure, lay it on me." 

"I spent a lot of time not needing anybody. It was never okay before I met you." 

Well, damn. 

"That's just one of the things I'm here for," Blair said softly. 

If Jim heard the sudden thickness in his throat, Blair didn't mind at all. 

* * *

_We might just make it._

_We've got genuine affection going for us. Respect. He trusts me. With everything._

_I am friend, lover, confidant, and guide._

_He's what keeps me balanced._

_One of the first things I noticed about Jim was that he let me be me. Yeah, there was all that blustering about my messes here and there, but it was always superficial. Never once have I felt anything but at home._

_It happened in the best way it could have possibly happened. One day I looked up to discover I was living inside a new status quo. We didn't talk about it. I just never looked for another place. He just never mentioned it. I came home one day to find more and more of the things I like stocked in the kitchen, and Jim and I took up residence in each other's lives. Sharing things at home, at work. More than time, less than everything._

_We got to everything only recently._

_We've got that going for us too._

_The first time Jim touched me somewhere he'd never touched before, I flushed all over. I was locked eye to eye with him, and we each could see what the sensation was doing to the other. His shirt was unbuttoned, the cuffs loose, and with every breath, his chest lifted the placket of his soft button-down shirt. Lower on his body, he was pressing new curves into the worn denim of his jeans as the fit of his pants adjusted around his erection._

_Aroused? Well, that would be the technical term for what I was. More like aflame. And so damn happy. Dizzy nearly._

_He's beautiful -- classically so -- and the clothes only accentuated that._

_How do I even start to comprehend why it is that Jim barefoot, unbuttoned, top snap undone is more fascinating than Jim naked and waiting? Could be the promise that vision holds, the reminder that he's about to choose loving me, all over again._

_Powerful stuff._

_My need was out of control and Jim answered with the gift of dominion over his body. I thought I was going to drive us towards some hard and fast release, but I was wrong. I just couldn't do it, and I lay there panting for some time, sprawled over him, both our bodies melting. I couldn't misuse the moment in that way. It would have been a travesty._

_Then Jim rescued me from myself._

_When he began to move, hands over me, everywhere at once, two felt like four or six or eight. Skin softly stroked, hips moving, sliding together, hands in my hair, hands down my back. I was surrounded; slowly, inexorably, and thoroughly loved._

_Since that night, I have a new favorite sleeping position: half on and half off Jim, my leg between his with my arms circling his waist._

_For nearly thirty years I slept on my back. It's a great position for thinking when you wake up in the middle of the night, worried about something._

_Maybe I was saving this for Jim._

* * *

Jim caught the soft sound as it vibrated in Blair's throat and through his chest and smiled to himself. He lightened his step and slowed his movements so that when he opened the door to the loft, he wouldn't disturb the contemplative man any more than he had to. Blair's meditations no longer seemed anything but natural to Jim, knowing as he did, that they went a long way towards helping Blair cope with all the chaos in his life, including the bloodier, seamier and more depraved elements and characters regularly encountered in police work. 

He knew Blair could hear him; that wasn't the point. It was that he didn't want to shock Blair into consciousness unnecessarily. At least, that was his thought as he breached the lock and gently deposited his things near the door. One glance at Blair's crossed legs and completely lax face, however, and Jim was reconsidering. 

There'd been hell to pay in the past for not following his instincts where Blair was concerned, so Jim had finally stopped trying to subvert them. Not entirely sure Blair would agree with him this time, Jim moved quietly towards where Blair had taken up his customary position on the couch. Jim was glad for the easier angle and bent his head until his shadow fell across Blair. Detecting not even the merest ripple in Blair's breathing, Jim continued his descent, touching their lips together, nudging lightly, before leaving a small moist caress behind. When he pulled away, it was to stare into Blair's now open eyes. 

Jim's questioning expression prompted Blair, who tilted his head slightly in answer. His mouth more eager this time, Jim moved in, but it wasn't all-consuming heat he was after, and without any other objective save enjoying the moment, the steady working of their mouths was smooth and warm but not carnal. 

So simple a gesture and they were connected once again. After all but the shortest times apart, one or both of them always sought a tangible way back to the other. 

"Mmm, hello to you, too." 

"You like?" 

Blair's head bobbed, the gesture as playful as Jim's tone. 

"Well, you are nice to come home to. Seemed only fair to express my thanks." 

"Feel free, man. Anytime." 

"I wasn't sure you'd appreciate being interrupted." 

"I was going to stop soon anyway, but Jim, your mouth _is_ meditation. The dangerous kind. I just want to fall in there and never come out." 

Jim laughed at that image. "I think our mouths have a thing for each other," he said, sidling up to Blair. 

Blair snickered. "Our mouths? Right." After a flamboyant peck on the corner of Jim's mouth, he added, "I love kissing you, and you do it so well." 

"I have an excellent accomplice. Willing, creative and patient." 

"Not right now, I'm not," Blair muttered, raising his head off Jim's shoulder. "I want more." 

They'd talked about it once, and were sure no one who knew either of them would ever believe they could spend hours just kissing. The first time it happened, Blair nearly blissed out on the heady combination of satisfaction and satiation. Remembering it always made Jim grin like a fool. The shoe on the other foot, for a change. 

"It's all yours," Jim murmured. 

" _You're_ all mine," Blair affirmed, tilting his head to the perfect angle. "I never knew." 

"That's just one of the reasons why it's called love, Blair. Because you get to discover things you never knew with the only other person in the world who could have known that you'd want to know." 

"Damn, Jim. What's up with you today? That was beautiful." 

"As opposed to my normal inelegant prose?" 

"No, no. That's not what I meant at all." 

"I know, just teasing you. What can I say, you inspired me." Jim brushed his fingers against Blair's bottom lip, tugging back when it folded in to claim his finger. They met again and recreated the wet, hot haven they'd formed earlier. 

When they finally separated Jim spoke first. "I didn't know there were so many rewards in meditation, Chief. Why didn't-" 

But Jim never got the chance to finish that bit of mischief. Blair tumbled them to the floor, quickly engaging Jim's mouth in other ways. 

At the moment, it was a better way of talking, anyway. 

* * *

_Someday you're going to find out about the letters._

_I've been writing to you for months now. It started when you told me about Borneo. I thought you were going, was sure of it, and it was a way to deal with the fear of no longer having you in my life._

_I had so much to say, things too real to only live on inside my own head, and I believed, mistakenly, that it would be easier than saying them to you face-to-face, but it wasn't. For some reason, when it was the paper and me, I felt like I had to be more honest, as honest as I could be. There were no excuses because there was no one else involved._

_No excuses, no risk, and no lies. Just me writing what couldn't be said._

_I know you keep a journal. I've watched you scribbling in it, and I know you write about me, and about us. I wish I could describe what I feel when I look up and catch you smiling at me in the middle of filling a page. I can only guess what thought put that smile there, what memory warmed your face, what moment caused you to actually reach out for me with the other hand, like you do sometimes._

_How you felt about me, there was something I never would have guessed. We're close, no doubt about that. We're friends and we're partners. And that last one would have made us close anyway, even without my senses. But we've got that too, and that's made you closer to me than any other partner I've ever had -- police or otherwise._

_That was pretty good. I mean, that would have been enough for me. I'd pretty much stopped wishing for the brass ring in life. I just wanted to go along, do a good job and maybe find an endless supply of the right beer._

_Then you came along._

_One day you're going to just look at me and see all the things I don't say aloud. I hope it isn't more than you can handle. Truth is Blair, I've never been able to express more than a fraction of all that I feel for you._

_'I love you' barely covers it._

_I did manage that. But those three words -- they stand for so much more, all unsaid except for the letters. Well, the letters and my heart._

_Maybe that's what lifetimes are for._

* * *

"And then what happens?" 

Blair was breathing hard, nearly gasping, and all the more aroused for the conscious, deliberate course they were on as Jim continued to unfold before his eyes. 

Not for the first time, a random remark had led to the unexpected, followed by an impromptu proposition, until an experimental step had grown to a racing gallop down a fascinating path. 

_You've been in my dreams_ , Jim had said, _my daydreams._

Fortuitously, the tea Blair had been sipping had cooled to some temperature between warm and tepid, because Blair upended what was left of it in his lap. Jim had admitted to a lively, and _nurtured_ , fantasy life. _Jim._ Not to mention the naked thrill of learning that he, Blair, had been the starring cast member. For _years_ , not just the short time they'd been lovers. 

As the tea had floated in the air, up then down, Jim's hand had flown to Blair's crotch. Whether it was concern that he might have hurt himself, or concern that Blair hadn't yelped, Blair wasn't sure, but all that happened was that the cup slipped mindlessly from Blair's fingers. And into Jim's. But that hand in his crotch had distracted Blair. The combination of that touch, that admission, and the added liquid warmth worked to ignite all things erotic and his arousal grew. 

Jim had altered the nature of the contact from placid to engaging, stroking Blair through the 'v' of wet denim. It was a lazy motion, absolutely sensual but unhurried, and Blair realized that the next move was his. 

He made a suggestion. _Tell me more._

As Jim revealed a private trove of poignant sentiment, Blair had done the only thing left to him, heart full to the brim with a resolute love -- he asked Jim to share those secrets. 

_I'd like that, Blair._

Better than 'yes', definitely better than 'perhaps', more than a hard-won concession -- an affirmation freely given. 

Up until that moment, Blair had thought he'd known what genuine was. 

With Jim's last utterance still hanging in the air, Blair's eyes fluttered closed as Jim described the first fantasy he'd ever had about Blair. What else but . . . a kiss? Not stolen or rushed, not situational, just simple. A greeting to come home to, one of several intimacies that were a foregone conclusion between them. There were words like 'soft' and 'need' and 'mutual,' with Jim's voice growing deeper the more he revealed, until he had reached over and shown Blair exactly what a daydream felt like. 

And that's when Blair, not wanting to risk missing a moment of _this_ Jim, had asked, "And then what happens?" 

In the space of a few words, the flimsy emotional borders they'd once clung to had begun to fall. Blair had a new ambition: peeling away every inhibition or objection that stood between him and their more basic wants, Jim's most basic wants. 

For once that numbing precision of which Blair was quite capable had a purpose. 

When he looked at Jim again, he was running his tongue over his lips. 

"You're tasting me." 

"Um-hmm." 

Jim's gaze was easy, without a hint of evasion or equivocation, and as Blair's eyes flicked over Jim's face, he saw a quick smile but no haste. There was nothing but time. 

As an attribute, that patience seduced Blair, and he was drawn to Jim, who reached out, suspended between the places they'd been and the new place they were about to enter. 

Blair had a second to reconsider. Should he say something, slow things down, gain some perspective? Maybe, but he couldn't bring himself to ease away from Jim, and Jim took the decision away from him anyway by sealing their mouths together again. Thoughts of whether they might be taking too much for granted were pushed aside. 

The press of Jim's body demanded eagerness and Blair answered willingly as excitement coursed through him and promises tumbled from him. Impassioned promises, no less sincere for the driven state in which he created them, targeting Jim's every desire, down to the smallest detail, his every need -- whatever. 

Moaning in Blair's mouth, Jim reached between them and slid buckles free and zippers open. They lost contact for a moment as Jim sat back to look at Blair, but then the moment was gone, and Jim stripped Blair of every last article of clothing. Blair watched, his entire body avid, as Jim bared himself as well. This was not going to end anytime soon, then, Blair realized, feeling his hunger grow at such deliberateness. They would have nothing between them, not now, not later, and not the third time, the slowest time, or the most shattering time they reached for each other in the night. 

His pulse hammered away at Blair in several places at once, but Jim found the source, trailing down Blair's throat to lick at the throbbing vein under his skin. A sharp sting and Blair gasped. Jim nipped at Blair again, dragging his tongue over the small patch of redness then up to where Blair's lobe attached to his jawbone. 

Blair struggled to form something more than a groan, failing. He wanted, God how he wanted. Seeking the bliss that would come with friction, searching blindly for it, he set his hips in motion, only to be stilled by Jim. 

"Noooooo, let me," he begged, bucking against that hold. But then Blair stopped abruptly as Jim's ragged pants penetrated his covetous haze and Blair remembered who this was for. 

Not yet, then. But it was a very close thing, as evidenced by Jim's tightening hands and squinched eyes. Chest heaving, he was on the verge of spilling everything too soon. Neither moved until Blair angled his lower body away, at the same time leaning in to find Jim's mouth again. Lightly, easily, and without fire. 

A kiss -- back to their beginnings. 

So tender was the exchange that Blair began to tremble, but Jim only pulled him closer and the respite was gone as quickly as it had come. Clutched in Jim's arms, the heat was back, everywhere they touched, in the air, all around them until they were throbbing and connecting everyplace. Thought, initiative or control had disintegrated. Their limbs wound tight, their pulses climbing, there was only one beautiful rhythm and two untamed bodies striking each other over and over until Jim wrenched away, head falling back, and came without a sound, with Blair following swiftly behind him. 

Fantasy number whatever, Blair pondered sometime later as they nuzzled on the couch. Not number two. Please God, no. He'd never survive if that had only been 'two.' Too spent to worry about it at the moment, nevertheless he was still considering the drawbacks of a theoretically infinite number of pleasures when he drifted back to sleep. 

The next time he woke, it was to the delicious pressure of Jim's mouth around his cock. In no time at all, though it had the distinct characteristic of a sweet, drawn out agony, and Blair was hard and aching again, thrusting his way to oblivion. But Jim had other plans and deserted him, sliding off to mark a trail of nips and bites across Blair's chest. 

Need swamped Blair and he began to chant something, anything, to divert himself from what he really wanted. When that didn't work, he closed his eyes, sacrificing sight to touch and sound, as Jim moved over his body. When the couch dipped, Blair dragged his attention away from his own need and nearly exploded at the sight that greeted him. Jim was on his knees, a vision of naked need before him, with one elbow braced on the sofa. 

As Blair watched, Jim coated three fingers with lubricant, and, with his eyes on Blair, he reached down and began to ready himself. Wanting to be where those fingers were, Blair nearly protested. He even heard himself forming the words in his brain -- _no, let me_ \--but somehow, they never made it out of the back of his throat. Something strangled and incomprehensible came out instead. 

It might have had something to do with Jim letting the lube slip bonelessly from his hand, or the sloppy wet noise he made as his fingers eased free. Or, it might have been the creased brow and the deep, satisfied rumble that went straight to Blair's cock as Jim stroked across the now hypersensitive fissure that his fingers had just abandoned. 

Whatever stopped Blair only applied to words, as it didn't influence in the least his ability to sit up and find his knees. Jim pressed him back though, and, straddling his hips, sheathed him whole. 

Neither of them dared breathe, but when Jim raised his head again and found Blair's eyes waiting, that was all it took for Blair. 

It was natural to roll up and propel the friction, caught up as he was, and at first, Blair didn't realize that Jim was holding himself perfectly still. Every brush, every slide, every millimeter of friction had to be ripe with sensation, yet Jim absorbed it all, refusing to blunt the stimulation with his own thrusts or slides. And suddenly Blair knew what Jim intended to do -- a release so pure it could send him spinning out of control, if not to the farthest edges of gratification that someone with heightened senses could realize. 

The keenest desire he'd ever known flowed over Blair then, because he wanted to give Jim that, a zenith Jim had never before dared to chase. Blair slowed his own thrusts, his blood singing, but his mind in accordance with his heart, and slid his hands up Jim's chest, waiting for Jim to acknowledge his slowing rhythm. 

"Let go . . ." 

So close and so essential. Jim began to unclench around him, to push the outward limits. 

" . . . it's safe . . ." 

". . . move. . . please . . ." 

Blair rocked up in counterpoint, swept along by the heat, until sensation narrowed sharply and zeal quickened each and every nerve between them, and pressure rising, Jim came in a ardent, jarring rush. 

With a wild mix of grit and visualization, Blair managed not to succumb to the pressure of Jim bearing down, hot and slick, around his cock. The dense tension was almost too much for Blair before the inevitable urge to find release gave way to pounding hearts and another more emotional desire, and Blair clawed back from the edge. 

Still roiling with aftershocks, Jim slumped forward. His breath joined the dampness clinging to Blair's skin. "Come for me. . ." he whispered hoarsely, and Blair's control vanished. "Come," came the plea again. 

_To be the one . . ._

It was all Blair could think of, as he gave all he had to give. 

* * *

The loft was flooded in moonlight before they moved again -- slight, uncomplicated stirrings -- and Blair uttered the words he could only hope would move Jim's heaven a lot closer to Jim's earth. 

"And then what happens?" 

* * *

_Jim gave me a chest today, an ornately carved one. Cherry, I think, and definitely crafted by a master. It's exquisite._

_When I opened it, I found several bundles and a small picture album. One envelope lay on top, containing only a notecard addressed to me, but the card didn't say much, only suggested I might want to read the contents privately. Intrigued, I glanced up at Jim, but he didn't elaborate, only smiled at me kind of shyly and then grabbed his jacket and said he'd be back in a few hours._

_That was not-quite two hours ago._

_And now . . . well . . . if still waters run deep, than I am going to spend the rest of my life tracing where his lead._

_When he walks back through that door, I'm going to tell him just that. I suspect he'll understand, truly understand. But on the off chance that he doesn't, I'll kiss him until he does._

* * *

End Personal Space by Cinel Durant: cineld@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
